Scrap-Person

When I was little, I had this really weird habit of wanting to be just one “type” of person. A perfectly encapsulated stereotype of a human, 100% of the time found in some movie I liked. And it usually never made sense. Some of the people I remember wanting to be are: a gladiator (guess what film that one was from?), a grease monkey, a glamorous lady, and Alison from Judy Blume’s Just as Long as We’re Together because she was always nice and everyone loved her.

And then I grew up, and nothing changed. Okay, a little changed–I stopped caring about making my personality like people from books and movies (because I’m AWESOME) and mostly wanted to look/dress/have hair like people from books and movies. So I’d go all bananas on one style for a few weeks, then move on to the next one. Bada-bing. But some notable characters stuck out, and so these are the people whose style I steal in some kind of twisted self-scrapbooking way:

Brigitte Bardot

Brigitte is my girl forever. She’s gorgeous, crazy, timeless, and her clothes are un-fucking-real. I love her giant hair and raccoon eyes, but it’s her outfits that go into my WildHearts scrapbook of life.

Candice Swanepoel

Scrapbook element: makeup. After all, if you’re going to have face-paint inspiration, who better than a Victoria’s Secret model?

Ballerinas

They’re the reason I love black tights. Ballet clothes are so pretty and simple and effortless and, sure, look way better on anorexic dancers than the average person, but who said I was average?

Bohemians

I forgot to add “gypsy” to the list of things I really wanted to be when I was little.

I’m bored now. You’re probably bored too! Or, if you’re an American, you’re probably too busy watching your dad blow off his fingers with a firework to read this post.

 

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A List of Things

I write a lot about specific topics, and even though I manage to put in a lot of random rambling, sometimes I want the whole post to be me tipping over my head and pouring out my brain. So, here is a list of random thoughts from the scrambledy noggin of me, Wild Hearts.

  1. I am very lucky. I have been extra-extra happy lately, and I am super thankful. Is that corny as all get-out? Yes. (Also, was saying “corny as all get-out” corny? Yeah. But if I keep asking that it’s just gonna be an infinite circle of corniness and no one wants that.) But is it true? Also yes.
  2. I love everything made out of potatoes. Mmm.
  3. Sometimes, I take things too personally, or get bitchy over something stupid. I’m working on it, and so far, so good. (You catch more rabbits with honey. I don’t know if that’s true, but the point here is that honey is good and I really don’t want to catch any flies. And bunnies and honey are cute!)
  4. I feel 9,000 times sexier in a garter belt and thigh-highs. It is my Instant Sexy.
  5. I am superstitious. Some things I believe in: knocking on wood, salt being protective, almost any folk tale, and not messing around with mirrors. (Black cats, however, I love.)
  6. I will do abso-fucking-lutely anything to bounce on a trampoline.
  7. I think it would be really cool to have black hair for a day (I’m blonde). But just a day.
  8. My favorite kind of people are carefree and fun and funny and wild and spontaneous, but who can also be the best serious conversation you’ve ever had. I’m lucky enough to know a few.
  9. I wear a lot of blush because I like to always look like I’ve just been laughing. (Not like a tranny, I promise.)
  10. Pickles. SO GOOD.
  11. I have an intense, burning hatred for nostalgia. And for living in the past. It’s good to have good memories, but that’s all they are. Make new better ones instead.
  12. When I see cute dogs I want to kidnap them. Especially Great Pyrenees.
  13. I don’t trust people who don’t like the water.
  14. One of my favorite things in the whole-wide world is when you look at them and you can tell what they’re thinking through their eyes. (Unless it’s something bad, like, “I hate her stupid face.” And then you can just slap on a pair of sunglasses, thankyouverymuch.)
  15. I am really excellent at telling people how I feel about them if they say it first. I could date someone for five billion years but I will never, ever, ever say, “I love you,” before they do unless it’s an accident. But if they say it, no problemo.
  16. I like giving head.
  17. Drinks with sour mix in them are delicious. Are you drinking one right now? No? Then you should be.
  18. I can’t wait for my hair to get longer.
  19. This number is my birth-day!

That is a lot of random thoughts, but there you have it.

See? Instant Sexy, just add legs.

 

Concerts and Art Projects and Sweaters, Oh My!

30 Seconds to Mars is touring in 2011. I want to see them. Except Jared Leto’s kind of a douche. A really, really good-looking douche, but still. The kind of douche you can’t wash off like in those Axe commercials. However, he makes some good music.

Also, I have been drawing a lot more lately. I kind of privately consider myself an artist–not because I’m good, ’cause I’m not, but because I make art (or try to, at least). And that makes me an artist, right? (Maybe not. But it sounds way better than painter-and-sketcher. Because that sounds like crap.)

Unrelated to any of this is a picture of someone dressed all fifties. Because I want to time-travel (okay, fine, I’m pretty sure this picture is fully from the here-and-now, so I want to teleport) and steal it.

Failing that (I’m a little busy to invent a teleporter this week), the knitting kind of reminds me of these super-cozy sweaters from Aerie. Which I am too college-student poor to buy, but *coughSantaIknowyouandyourelvestotallyreadthisblogalldaywhenyou’resupposedtobemakingnutcrackersandshitcough* would be a lovely giftie.

Honestly I just like to dress like a homeless person. The more ripped and cozy and tattered, the better. Also, people will give me money on the street, and then I can use it to buy more homeless-people clothes. Win-win!

Who Writes This Trash?

So if you’re going to be cracking open my diary, I guess you should probably know a few things about me.

I’m just-barely not a teenager anymore, but I hate the word “woman.” Fuck it being empowering. Ask anybody if “woman” or “girl” sounds prettier and unless they’re wearing Birkenstocks over unshaved legs, they’re gonna say “girl.”

Not that being pretty is everything. I love to read. Know why? Because BOOK LOVERS NEVER GO TO BED ALONE, that’s why. (All-time favorite? Fierce People, Dirk Whittenborn. Hands-down.)

I hate going out to dinner with my significant others.

I love sex. Probably too much. I think I’m more like a guy in that department. I think about it a lot. And talk about it a lot. In my opinion it’s the meaning of life, because: why does a species exist? To survive. How does a species survive? By propagating. How does a species propagate? Sex. (I know, I know. We’re not animals. But maybe I am one.)

I think that I come across a lot more opinionatedly in type than I am in real life. My policy is—you think whatever you want, I’ll think whatever I want. I think everyone is entitled to their opinion, and even if I don’t agree with it, I won’t argue with them. It’s their head-space, not mine.

I love ballet. I wish I could do it.

Instead, I do yoga.

I have recently discovered that I might be a chubby chaser.

I hate doing chores. Not just doing them, but the whole idea. The average lifespan of an American person is 78.4 years. That’s 41,207,040 minutes. We only get 41,207,040 to waste, and personally, I just don’t get spending a single one on mowing the lawn. Because the grass is gonna grow back no matter how many times you give it a haircut.

I know people are so much more than the sum of their parts, so you could read this a thousand times and never know me at all. But, either way, hello. (You’re sexy.)

Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken

This is the wildly inappropriate, odd, and probably boring online diary of a girl.